


polaris.

by rexflame



Category: RWBY
Genre: Introspection, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-04-16 14:57:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14167380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexflame/pseuds/rexflame
Summary: don't come any closer -but don't go away.





	polaris.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a revision of something i wrote....god, maybe two years ago? i'm not sure i agree with how i wrote it, per se, but i wanted to finally post something for this ship lol  
> also it's 1230 am and i haven't slept in god knows how long

sometimes, qrow wonders why he comes back.

 

it’s not that he shouldn’t - it’s not that he should - it’s what he carries with him. he loves the girls with all his dammed stubborn heart and he loves the sunflowers in the front lawn and the way the light filters through windows and the way taiyang hums when he makes tea on that stupid whining stove. it’s him that’s the problem. a bad luck charm is the last thing they need - is it his fault all along, the misfortune, or does he amplify whatever bad luck they’d already had?

 

he doesn’t want to dwell on it. he wants to leave his head on taiyang’s hardwood table and breathe in the scent of old love until he leaves. he always will leave, and it will always be a fight, because he can never stay and tai can never let him stay. they’re caught in an endless orbit, like that.

 

(they’re all they have left, and they’re going to destroy each other.)

 

the house smells like jasmine and moonlight washes over his fingers, through the slats of the windows. his ring reflects the light, and he smiles faintly, turning his hand this way and that. even in his trance, he’s aware of the sound of clattering dishes, and when he tilts his head to the side, tai is pouring tea.

 

they each have a mug. all of them had, at one point, and some sit on the top shelf and collect dust.

 

qrow breathes out heavy through his nose and folds his hands while tai carries the mugs over and sets them solemnly on the table, like a man walking to his own execution. like a man who is still drowning in his past.

 

“it’s black,” tai says, his voice cracking the silence, and qrow takes his flask out and pours some whiskey in.

 

it tastes bitter and horrible, but it’s the edge he needs, and he smiles faintly when tai gives him a disparaging look. 

 

the moonlight reflects deep in taiyang’s blue eyes - they’re emotional and open and closed all at once, and for an instant, qrow is struck with the sensation of drowning. the feeling of loss and the air from his lungs.

 

taiyang looks away and down into his mug as if it will tell him where to go.

 

qrow feels like he can breathe again.

 

they don’t talk, just nurse their drinks and stare into the distance in silence. qrow runs his fingers over the bumps on the handle of his mug, a labor of love by yang that’s had to be glued back together far too many times. it reminds him of the idea of home, nebulous and pounding and  _ terrifying. _

 

(he is not a hunter- he is cornered.)

 

behind them, the sky starts to fade pink as the tea leaves settle. qrow stands from his chair. it creaks.

 

“you’re leaving.” taiyang says. it is a statement. it is not warm.

 

qrow laughs in the back of his throat and doesn’t say a word, because words are heavy and don’t ever come out right. his cloak hangs beside the door, and he grabs it with purpose, the thick cloth secure against his fingers. he is free.

 

he rests a hand on the doorframe when he hears tai stand up.

 

“remember to come home,” tai says, his voice grating, not having come any closer. 

 

“for the girls.”

 

if it’s about the girls, then they never have to be involved. they never have to acknowledge this - the remnants of a broken team, holding each other at just the right distance. never too close.

 

qrow’s hand dances over the dance, and once more his ring sparkles, pink in the beginnings of the dawn.

 

“for the girls.” he echoes.

 

“and,  qrow?”

 

he hesitates, hand on the door handle, as he hears the floorboards creak. tai’s hand brushes against his shoulder, gently, and he feels himself come crashing down the second the man’s chin rests on his shoulder, a soft hand on his forearm, fingers calloused.

 

“for me.”

 

qrow smiles, because he doesn’t know what to do, or what to say, or how to stay. his breathing is his focus until tai moves away.

 

(he opens the door in silence and flies away, and flies until he is no longer thinking, until he does not have to.)

  
  
  
  



End file.
